


UsCouchCrotch

by TooManyChoices



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Awkwardness, Blow Jobs, Couch Cuddles, Domestic Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, M/M, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-16
Updated: 2014-03-11
Packaged: 2018-01-12 16:14:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1191540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TooManyChoices/pseuds/TooManyChoices
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a long day, John's head ends up somewhere unexpected and boundaries are challenged.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. UsCouchCrotch

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own BBC Sherlock but I'm eternally grateful that we're allowed to borrow them on occasion.
> 
> I love feedback. Critical feedback helps me grow. Tell me what you like and I'll write more of it.

It had been a gruelling day and an exhausting case but at the end, they’d cornered the killer and Lestrade’s crew had taken him into custody. John walked into the lounge, threw himself down onto the couch with a resonant sigh leaving Sherlock to trail behind and close the door.

He knew he should wash up before sleep overtook him but honestly he couldn’t be arsed and even the grittiness of the dirt and pieces of broken windscreen scattered through his clothes and hair weren’t enough to motivate him to shift from the couch just yet.

Joining him on the couch, Sherlock glanced to John, reached out and deftly plucked a fragment of glass from his shoulder with long elegant fingers. It dropped onto the coffee table with a quiet chink. The fingers moved again…..chink….and again. The movement and noise were oddly relaxing in their repetition and John’s eyes glazed a little as he watched the light play off the shards of glass on the table top.

Sherlock, never one to overlook a clue broke the silence of the room, “Look just come here will you. You’re practically asleep already and it will be easier to get this glass out with you closer”. Sherlock uncharacteristically patted the sofa closer to him and, too tired to even consider what had prompted the small mercy, John scooted over.

Pluck…chink…pluck…chink. The delicate fingers continued their work barely touching John’s hair. John’s head nodded and without making a conscious decision, allowed his head to droop against Sherlock shoulder, the noise of glass hitting table reminding him of rain on the roof as a child.

At some point, having removed the obvious pieces, Sherlock began running his fingers through John’s hair, careful not to drag any undiscovered pieces across his scalp and the only thought that surfaced in John’s clouded brain was _mmmmm…nice, this_ _is…very nice_ _._

John awoke with a start some time later and realised with horror that at some point, his sleep deprived body had given up all pretence of propriety and had slid, probably not gracefully, down Sherlock’s body and his head was now cradled snuggly in the detective's lap. Sherlock’s clever fingers were still carding their way through John’s hair as if this wasn’t the most excruciatingly embarrassing position for two men to find themselves in. When John made a move to rise, a hand paused on his head, applied firmer pressure until John stilled and then resumed their soothing slide through his hair.

“Ummm, Sherlock?” John began his voice muffled somewhat against Sherlock’s trousers.

“Yes John?”

“Can I…get up?”

“Why? You seemed so comfortable?”

John had to concede that it was, in fact, very comfortable. His head nestled on Sherlock’s lap, his neck curved gently over his thigh and his shoulder supported on the sofa. If it hadn’t been that John was intimately aware that with every stroke of Sherlock’s hand _and he really should ask him to stop that_ John’s right ear was being repeatedly pressed into Sherlock’s groin. A groin that, in response to the gentle friction, appeared to be at least somewhat aware of the possibilities this position presented.

Stroke…press…stroke…press. Images of his head bobbing in Sherlock’s lap flooded his head as if seen from across the room including one without trousers and with John’s mouth replacing his ear _and where the **hell** had THAT come from?)_

John tried a different approach, “I think the glass is probably all gone now”

“Almost certainly” Stroke…press…stroke…press, “I’m actually finding this rather soothing, do you mind if we continue?”

 _Yes…no…yes…warm…no…yes…hands…stroking….fingers…yes…head bobbing…. NO!_ Slightly alarmed at the direction his thoughts were heading and that Sherlock found the thought of having John’s head in his lap SOOTHING and an enthusiastic stirring in his own lap John began struggling in earnest.

“Sherlock! My head….is in…your crotch”

The feel of Sherlock’s hands immediately disappeared and instead moved to help John right himself and John gave silent thanks that even if Sherlock didn’t quite understand WHY a line had been crossed he understood that John certainly had an issue with the situation.

Clearing his throat and running his own hands through his hair, John turned ready to give Sherlock a decent serve of exactly why the whole situation was wrong beyond all reason only to be confronted by Sherlock’s own tired, confused _and was that_ _hurt?_  look in the detective’s eyes and his anger and frustration evaporated in a heartbeat.

“Sherlock”, he began slowly, “While I concede that on a physical level, having somebody run their hands through my hair is immensely relaxing, and I’m sure there’s some psychological connection to feeling safe, and warm and… “ John waved his hands searching for the right word without it sounding incredibly needy “…. home. You can’t possibly believe it’s OK for us to sit on the couch and…”

Sherlock interrupted, “I was sitting, you were more correctly lying”

“Shut up Sherlock, I’m making a point. Us…couch…crotch”

“Bit not good?” The beginnings of a small smile began tugging at the corners of Sherlock’s mouth as he tried for humour.

“More than a bit Sherlock, quite a bit more than not good.” John missed the attempted defusing, still unsettled, both by how easily Sherlock had seemingly accepted the situation and, more worryingly, how intensely good it had all felt _in so many ways._

“John….”

John recognised the tone. It was reserved for when Sherlock was frustrated, angry and reserved for situations where he felt there was a lesson John needed to learn. The one that made John feel like the most sensible social conventions were not just misguided but damaging to the future of the British Empire.

“John, listen to me. We’re two grown men. We live together, we eat together and we work together. It stands to reason that we seek comfort in each other’s presence. Touch is an important social and physical need and there is nothing unnatural in giving and receiving such support. That I became aroused by the touch….”

 _How does he just say that word as if he’s reading a damned shopping list?_  John thought.

“…..aroused by the touch is not an unexpected physical reaction and excuse me if I just point out that it seems rather unfair that you be more embarrassed about my lack of self-control than I am. It’s actually slightly insulting to find out that you’d think me unable to respond physically to having your head in my lap. Have I accurately summarised all of the factors leading to your over-reaction?”

John became aware that at some point, his mouth had fallen open and he was now staring at Sherlock as his brain tried valiantly to process the information. He’d followed the entire working, living part, and the touch being a social need. But somewhere around the arousal and erectile dysfunction part something in his brain had short-circuited and was now desperately trying to reboot and restore normal services.

“John?....” Sherlock repeating his name seemed to complete the reboot.

“Just..Just give me a second to pull my thoughts together. Did you really just say that you’re angry with me because you think I’ve been under some delusion that you….can’t get hard?” _How did a day chasing a serial killer end up discussing Sherlock’s sexual function?_

“I’m a perfectly healthy male John”

“I know Sherlock”

“My libido is in what is considered the normal range John”

“Sherlock…”

“Slightly higher than normal actually”

“Sherlock…”

“And my refractory period would be considered above average for my age”

“Sherlock…”

“In fact, statistically, I have a number of attributes above the bell curve”

“Sherlock…stop”

“And more than once, I’ve toyed with the idea of bringing someone home for casual intercourse”

“Sherlock…stop!”

“But the idea of sex with a stranger was unappealing, and the risk of STDs was unacceptably high”

“SHERLOCK STOP! Just…stop.” The shout had, finally, the desired effect. Sherlock’s increasingly revealing bullet point list of his private statistics ground to a halt and they were left in the room staring at each other in a strange, pensive silence. Being the one that called the halt, John sensibly chose to be the one to break it.

“Sherlock, why is it important to you that I know all this? Where is all this coming from?”

“I find myself alone John. I’ve been alone for much of my life, so this condition is nothing new. However with you here, close, I find myself considering a great many things differently. When we first met I turned down a sexual advance from you….”

“No Sherlock…I wasn’t…” John didn’t think he even remembered that night at Angelo’s while they were chasing that cab driver.

“Shh John, now It’s my turn to make a point. I find myself willing to consider exploring other options, with a friend, on a more personal level.”

_Wait, is he asking……_

Sherlock continued, “…not that I’d press the matter. Tonight’s experience clearly alarmed you and made you uncomfortable so I won’t mention this again.”

_Shit…he IS asking…_

“I’m sorry to have misinterpreted the situation. I was confident, on past evidence, that my clumsy attempt to advance our relationship would be welcome. Please forgive me John.”

For the second time in a night, John found himself speechless. The moment sat on a knife-edge and John was acutely aware that whatever move he made next would have deep and lasting repercussions. If he chose to step away, this door would close and although Sherlock would act as if nothing had changed, internally he would conclude that the brilliant brain of Sherlock Holmes had somehow miscalculated, and making him doubt decisions based on facts and evidence. It would eat him alive.  _But he hasn't miscalculated._

Sherlock sat, waiting for John’s response and looking like a man who’d just laid his soul bare. All the facts, his desires, his fears and at the very end and so important to Sherlock, his assumedly mistaken conclusions lay there in the space between them. John thought he’d never seen the man more vulnerable and he was overwhelmed at the swell of confusing emotions that surged inside him. Sherlock, who never trusted anyone, trusted John at this moment with it all and still sat, waiting for John to pass judgement. The most brilliant, beautiful, insightful and quirky man he’d ever met had just given himself completely in almost every way that mattered and John had taken it, taken it all and now it was time to give back.

“Sherlock, you’re not mistaken; it’s just a bit unexpected.” _In for a penny_ “Would you mind terribly if, right now, I just lay my head back down. I think you running your fingers through my hair would be rather wonderful just at the moment”

The strain eased from Sherlock’s face gave John the courage to continue, “and if we both find it…..soothing…again, I think that will be just fine with me.”


	2. Helping out a friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After John has a nightmare, Sherlock offers comfort...and a little more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own BBC Sherlock but am forever grateful they let us borrow them occasionally.
> 
> I love feedback, it helps me grow and improve. Tell me what you like and I'll keep writing it

_John was trapped, the sand filling his nose and mouth, pined under the upturned transport. The blood from the bullet wound in his shoulder soaking his shirt and painting a red line across his chest to drip into the sand under him. The pain was intense and he could hear the cries of his team around him. His voice adding to theirs as he started screaming._

"John, shhh, John. You're safe, you're home, I'm here." Sherlock's deep baritone cut through the dream and he jerked back to consciousness, flailing in the dark.

Sherlock's weight pressed on the bed behind him as he sat on the edge and a warm, comforting hand settled on John's shoulder as the shaking began, adrenaline driving his body through the terror and out the other side.

"It's OK John, it's over. It's in the past." Sherlock voice was calling him back, away from the heat, and the sand, and the death. Back to Baker Street, back home.

"Jesus Sherlock. I'm sorry; I didn't mean to wake you. It's just..." John trailed off into silence, struggling to articulate how bad it had been.

"John. I'm going to do something now and I don't want you to panic, or read anything into this except a friend offering another friend comfort. Am I clear?"

"No, not really, but go ahead. You're going to do it anyway and I'm too tired to complain in any case."

When Sherlock stood up, John thought he was leaving, or going to get a cup of tea for him or...anything except Sherlock lifting the duvet and sliding in behind him to curl his ridiculously long body around John's more compact frame. John's entire body froze at the feel of the taller man pressed snugly from shoulder to ankle, his warm breath tickling John's ear.

"No panicking John, you agreed remember"

"Yes, but Sherlock...Spooning? Really?"

"Comforting, John. I'm comforting you. No ulterior motive, no porn movie music, no flowers and dinner. I'm offering comfort."

The thought of Sherlock down on one knee with a bunch of flowers did the trick and the desperate need to flee was replaced by first a smile and a smothered laugh as the tension eased from his shoulders.

"Better. Now relax, sleep if you can, I'll be here"

Sherlock began making slow easy circles with his fingertips on a Johns shoulders, occasionally pausing and gently kneeding at a knot of muscle. His strong and delicate hands conducting a strange esoteric dance on John's skin and tracing lines across scar tissue in the dark. It was oddly relaxing and John was just drifting off to sleep when a tell-tale nudge against his arse set alarm bells ringing again and he tensed.

Sherlock sighed, "Oh for God's sake John, we've already had this conversation. I'm a man, I have a penis, and I get erections. Can we PLEASE get past this? I'm not going to force myself on you without prior warning and permission"

"Yes, sorry, right. You're right, sorry. I'll try to relax" John replied a little chastised. This was Sherlock, the man he trusted with his life.

The circling fingers on his arm resumed, paused and, without warning we're suddenly gone. Instead, Sherlock's hand first settled on the side of John's ribs, slid around his chest and firmly drew their bodies together as if to challenge John to confront his earlier demons.

The insistent bulge was now firmly pressed against his right arse cheek and to make matters worse, was trying to attract additional attention by occasionally pulsing firmly between their bodies. Worse still, John's own body, having answered the call to action, was working on producing an impressive erection of his own.

"Shit...I can't sleep like this." John wriggled from Sherlock's grasp and sat up.

Sherlock propped himself up on one elbow and with a frustrated sigh tried to explain again, "John, here's what you need to know. I find you attractive sexually and, if or when you're ready..."

John interrupted, "No Sherlock, that's not the problem. The problem is that I now have a raging hard-on and sleep is about as likely as the Queen tap dancing at Buckingham palace at the next trooping of the colour"

"Oh."

"Yes, oh. So unless you and your brilliant brain have any idea on how to solve THIS little dilemma" and at this point John gestured at the majestically tented sheet over his lap, "then I think tonight's little experiment on COMFORTING is just about done."

In the dim light of the room, John could just make out Sherlock staring fixedly at the sheet, his eyes unfocussed as he quite obviously worked through all the options in rapid succession before arriving in a clinically logical and yet unexpected place.

"I could…", a pause and Sherlock raised his dagger-like stare to John's face, "help you with that," another awkward pause in the silence of John's room, "If you like."

 _And we're down the bloody rabbit hole again._  John sat, dumbstruck, mouth agape and hands upturned in helplessness at the suggestion that had just been laid out before him.

"Sherlock, tell me you didn't just offer to get me off. Please tell me that of all the scenarios and options you worked through in the space of two bloody heartbeats that the best solution, the one that made the most SENSE was to offer to jerk me off."

"The most sense in the traditional meaning of the word? No. The most SENSIBLE option would be to excuse you for a quick wank in the shower. However, when I take into consideration our obvious sexual compatibility…" Now Sherlock gestured toward his own crotch, "…I believe the more DESIRABLE solution is to allow me to participate."

And that, John thought, is that. The great and glorious Sherlock Holmes put aside reason and allowing need to creep in and help direct the scene. _Wonders will never cease with this man_. The calm and rational explanation allowed John some respite and gave him the space he needed to have a serious think about what it was HE wanted.

_My flat mate has just offered to give me a quick wank in the dark. That's…odd_

_My flat mate is visibly turned on by the idea of giving me a quick wank in the dark. Still odd._

_My INCREDIBLY attractive flat mate has offered to give me a quick wank in the dark. Still odd, but flattering._

_My attractive flat mate, who if I'm completely honest with myself, I've occasionally considered pushing up against a wall and sticking my hand down his trousers, wants to wank me off. OK, I'm not totally against the idea._

_Jesus I'm hard_

_I'm going to get a wank from Sherlock Holmes, and I no longer give a fuck if it's odd._

"OK" The words left John's mouth before he had time to talk himself out of it.

"OK? Really?" Sherlock looked slightly shocked that John had agreed.

"Unless you've changed your mind? Which is fine by the way, totally fine." _Not fine at all!_

"No." Sherlock said slowly, "I haven't changed my mind, I just, I'm not sure I expected you to…..accept."

"Christ, did you want me to say no?" _God, what have I done?_ "Look, pretend I didn't say anything and I'll just nip out and….take care of myself. I misunderstood…" John made a valiant effort to get out of the bed without looking like the complete idiot he felt. His feet had just hit the floor when Sherlock's firm grasp on his forearm forestalled his escape.

"John…", Sherlock's gentle voice was an invitation rather than the rejection John was expecting. Sherlock simply said "Come back to bed."

So that's what John did. He got back under the duvet and with gentle coaxing from Sherlock, resumed his snug position cradled against Sherlock's chest, crotch and long legs. He tucked his head next to Sherlock's and felt the taller man adjust position slightly so his chin was perched in the curve between John's neck and shoulder, warm breath curling around his neck. He'd snaked his left arm under John, bringing his hand up to splay against the older man's chest.

The confusion and doubt of the past few minutes fell away as Sherlock's arms held him close, clearly content to simply hold John for as long as needed to chase away lingering fears while all the time the insistent nudge at his rear was reminding his own body that at some point, there'd been the happy offer of a little more strenuous exercise to round out the evening.

Sherlock's right hand began its methodical circling on his shoulder again but this time it forayed down, along ribs, across his chest, down to his waist in warm broad strokes. Never pushing too far, never forging beyond John's hip. Within minutes, John was gritting his teeth and suspecting he'd never been this hard in his entire life.

"Sherlock…." John suspected he sounded rather needy by this point.

"John?" Came the reply, his name vibrated through Sherlock's neck to John's skin and oh God didn't that feeling send additional blood thundering to his groin. The tone in Sherlock's voice holding an unasked question, Is this OK? Do we continue?

"Sherlock, if we don't start moving this along, I fear I'm going to start begging and that would be rather embarrassing."

"So…" Sherlock's hand moved lower, perching on John's hip, finger tapping idly.

"God Sherlock…please….will you…just….please" _There it is, I'm reduced to begging. Kill me now._

In one smooth move, without hesitation Sherlock hand dove down and his elegant and _OMG LONG_ fingers encircled John's shaft in one fluid movement. Not pressing or squeezing, just holding firmly.

_Was that a groan? Did one of us groan? Jesus, that was me wasn't it? Fuck that's good, and tight, and warm, and why didn't this happen ages ago._

"Are you OK John. Too much? Do you want me to…" the pressure of Sherlock's hand lessened noticeably and Sherlock tensed behind him.

"God NO!" _OK that came out a little louder than planned_ "Just…for the record I feel I need to say out loud….that feels…incredible."

At the unsought praise, John felt Sherlock smile against his neck, the flex of jaw bringing those razor sharp cheekbones into relief and pressing them against his ear.

"Excellent. That's...well….excellent. You'll tell me if what I'm doing isn't…..working for you?"

 _He hasn't even moved and I feel like a hormonal teenager reading his first porn magazine. I don't think this not...WORKING FOR ME….is going to be an issue._ "Yes Sherlock, if there's a problem, I give you my solemn word I'll mention it"

Sherlock still hadn't moved, not even a fraction, "Good because I want this to be enjoyable for you John and….."

 _Will you just…..move your hand._ Need and desperation finally pushed John to force the issue, canting his hips backward to shift his cock in Sherlock's hand he was rewarded with a sharp intake of breath behind him as the movement also provided some unexpected additional friction to Sherlock's untended erection. _Now THIS is progress!_

It appeared that this triggered some epiphany in Sherlock who, knowing what he liked in the privacy of his own bedroom, began to apply personal experience in this new context. Whether by happy coincidence or glorious accident John found that what worked for Sherlock was startling good for him too.

As John lost himself in the sensation of Sherlock's long strokes, twisting slightly whenever he reached the base, he could feel that Sherlock had begun rutting against him from behind, the excitement of his obvious success at pleasuring John driving Sherlock's own arousal to new levels. John adjusted his movements, altering tempo so that as Sherlock pushed forward toward him, he pushed back, grinding against the taller man and wordlessly trying to signal that it was OK, THEY were OK and this had been the best idea Sherlock had come up with in a very long time.

It was never going to last as long as John would like. He realised that as soon as Sherlock had first grasped him and as their sweat slicked bodies continued to glide against one another ever more frantically, John still had enough conscious control to mutter an urgent, "Sherlock….I'm close, I'm very damned close"

"Go ahead John, I've got you" came the panted reply. Sherlock's acceptance and all the intimacy it represented giving John the push he needed to send him cascading over the edge, wave after wave of his climax surging through him and clouding his vision with sparkling lights. Somewhere in the foggy oblivion, some small part of John's brain registered that Sherlock had also toppled over the brink, hands clutching at John's chest, hips pushed impossibly hard against John's and a strangled cry ringing in his ear.

They lay there, panting against each other, waiting for the aftershocks to subside and some control return to their muscles. John was trying to put some coherent words together to accurately describe the mind-blowing nature of what he'd just had happen and how delighted he was that Sherlock had joined him for the ride.

"I'm sorry John." Sherlock's voice sounded very far away in his ear, although the taller man hadn't moved away "I didn't mean to, I wasn't meant to….It was supposed to be about you."

John tried to turn his head, tried to make eye contact to understand what was going on in Sherlock's head. Untangling himself from Sherlock's lean frame with arms and legs which still obstinately refused to move was a challenge, but he was able to turn enough to see the haunted, chastened look in Sherlock's eyes.

"What are you talking about Sherlock, do I look like a man who didn't enjoy himself?"

"Well yes, obviously you enjoyed yourself. However me taking my own pleasure, frotting against you without your permission. It's not what you agreed to and….I'm sorry."

"You're an idiot Sherlock. You may be the smartest man I know and the most frustrating but right now in this bed, you're the biggest idiot on the planet"

"Excuse me?"

"That, what we just did, is probably…no…IS…the best wank I've had in my entire life. Alone, with a partner, ever. Jesus, it beat most of the actual sex I've ever had, and I've had some pretty impressive sex over the years. And you know what…." John paused to choose just the right words to cut through Sherlock's mad self-delusion, "I think, what made it so incredibly spectacular was knowing that behind me, right behind me, Sherlock Holmes, the most intelligent, most astoundingly measured and constrained person I've ever met, was losing control and it was because of me. It was because bringing me pleasure was pushing you over the edge and I was making that happen."

"So you're not disappointed at my lack of self-control?"

"Disappointed! If I could trust my legs to hold me up right now, I'd be doing a celebratory Rhumba. Sherlock, that was amazing. YOU'RE amazing, and damn it, together WE were amazing"

"It was rather good wasn't it?" The look on his face told John that free of his fears Sherlock was now allowing himself to bask in the afterglow. "But I reckon we could improve with practice."

"Can I at least have a shower first?"


	3. A kiss isn't just a kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft has a brotherly chat with John to help him confront some demons and Sherlock has an unexpected talent.

The kitchen seemed unnaturally bright and quiet as John sat silently sipping his tea. He felt....displaced, as if he was both somehow more at home and yet strangely out of place at the small table. The night before with Sherlock had been confronting, exciting, bizarre and yet oddly familiar. It felt like pieces of his brain were all desperately battling for attention to try and deal with the confusing jumble. _I_ _need air._

Stopping to leave a note 'Gone for milk, back later - John', he grabbed his coat from the rack, and headed out for long, much needed, walk.

He still wasn't sure how a nightmare ended up with...well...with his flat mate's hand around his cock. He half wished he could shrug it off as an accident, but let's face it, it was as accidental as those stories told of people 'accidentally' tripping and ending up with a sauce bottle up their arse. Sherlock had offered, he'd accepted and....given half a chance, if that's how mind blowing it was going to be, he'd accept even faster if it was offered again.

On reflecting, John had ambled to a stop and with a start, he realised he'd ended up standing on a corner, shoulders loose, eyes glazed and mouth hanging open. Clearing his throat roughly, he continued toward a nice little cafe that served passable tea and where he was likely to be ignored with his thoughts.

20 minutes later, John sat alone at a table, tea untouched and he was as once again staring vacantly toward a blank wall less than three feet away. With the smallest of sounds, the chair beside him was pulled back and a tall well dressed man in a dove grey suit sat quietly down.

"John, how pleasant to find you here"

"Mycroft", John was pulled from his reverie, "I won't ask how you knew I was here"

"Excellent John, that will save me having to invent unnecessary falsehoods"

John was long used to Mycroft's games, however this morning he had no patience to play them. "Just get on with it Mycroft, why are you here?"

"For you John, I'm here for you. In the past 48 hours, the situation between you and my brother has....changed, let us put it"

"You have a bloody camera in my room?" Why am I not in the least surprised "Do either you or your brother have the SLIGHTEST idea of social convention?"

"Oh please don't let us talk about social convention after the night you've just had"

"Jesus Mycroft, can we not discuss this"

"But John, we NEED to discuss this. You and I need to have a little chat about your 'intentions' with regards to my brother."

"My 'intentions'? What the hell do you mean by that?”

"Well John, you have taken your relationship with Sherlock, how do the young people put it, 'to the next level' in a fairly unmistakable way."

"I don't see how what Sherlock and I choose to do, or not do, is any of your business."

"Oh but my dear Doctor Watson, my brother's welfare IS my business, and I am here to ensure that that you have his welfare in mind too."

John stared at the older Holmes brother, feeling like he was being asked by a father whether he intended to marry the daughter he'd just deflowered and wondered if Mycroft had hidden a shotgun under the table.

"John, I know my brother may seem aloof and impregnable but you must know by now that the truth is far more complicated."

"Yes, yes I understand that....."

"I'm not sure you do John. Don't play games with my brother John, his heart is not a toy for you to discard after Christmas."

"I'd never...."

"What I'm trying to say Doctor, is that if you are confused, if you are conflicted, if you are at all unsure about the path you are currently travelling with Sherlock, then you need to step away from that path now."

"But...."

"Because you will break him John. If you walk away from this, Sherlock will shatter like glass. The only difference is that by leaving now, I may be able to repair what is left behind. If this goes further, my brother will be unsalvagable."

And without even waiting for a response, Mycroft rose from the table leaving John to consider what had been said.

What the hell do I do now! John thought through what had been said and the degree of concern Mycroft must have felt to have approached John. Mycroft made some valid points and John was well aware that he had privileged insight into Sherlock's complicated psyche. The stuck up, entitled, pretentious paper-pusher putting into words something that John, on some level, already knew.

 _Should I walk away? COULD I walk away?_  Certainly the past 48 hours had been strange but it hadn't been awful. In fact, parts of it had been bloody fantastic. _So what am I afraid of_? Half the people they knew already thought they were a couple. More than once, Mrs Hudson had asked when John and Sherlock would 'make honest men of each other.' _Was it the label?_  John's sister Harry was gay, and he was fine with that. He had gay mates and there had never been an issue. _But that's them, this is me, I'm not gay. I like women._

While that was unquestionably true, it was also clear that he liked Sherlock too. 'Liked him' with a fierce, unquestioning passion that left him breathless and sweating at the thought of Sherlock's hands on his body. So maybe it was simple as that, if he applied the same clinical, logical reasoning as Sherlock would, the answer was that he wanted Sherlock, and the only way way he could lose would be to lose Sherlock, and the only way to lose Sherlock would be to walk away. _So what's holding me back?_  Fear.....that was it, fear of stepping into the unknown. John knew the mechanics of male relationships, and for John, it was uncharted territory. For Sherlock, well who knows? But he trusted Sherlock, trusted him with his life. John knew he'd die before hurting Sherlock, and he knew, in the very core of who he was, that Sherlock felt the same about John.

 _I need to get home._  John dropped a couple of pound on the counter and virtually ran home, fumbling his keys out of his pocket as he stormed the steps of 221B. Thundering up the stairs, he pushed open the door calling as he did.

"Sherlock!"

"Where's the milk?"

"Where's the...what?" The question slowed John's rush into the room.

"The milk, you said you'd gone for milk." Sherlock was in his chair by the fire, a book open on either arm of the chair and the newspaper open on his lap.

"Yes, well...not important. Sherlock, I've been thinking..."

"Well that explains why you've been gone so long"

"Very funny Sherlock..."

"Oh...was it? Sherlock gave John a look that said that he hadn't intended humour.

"Anyway....I've been thinking...."

"Yes, you said..."

Deciding that for once, actions would speak louder than words, John approached Sherlock, standing to the side of the armchair and as Sherlock turned his head and parted his lips to ask exactly 'what' John had been thinking, John showed him by leaning down and taking Sherlock's mouth with his.

He felt Sherlock's lips close under his for a moment, that blindingly fast brain processing the situation before the lips softened again, his long slender arm coming up before his hand cupped the back of John's neck and deepening the kiss.

 _This is going well!_  He felt Sherlock's lips part and his tongue gently requesting passage past John's teeth. _Am I ready for tongue? Where did Sherlock learn to kiss like this? Sherlock's been keeping at least SOME secrets from Mycroft at any rate._ Sherlock' tongue pressed again and John permitted access joyously, joining him in a delicate exploration, neither pushing or taking too much this early. After several lost, delirious minutes, John broke away, resting his head on Sherlock's to catch his breath.

"Unexpected." Sherlock's usual robust vocabulary seemed to have left him along with most or the air in his lungs.

"But nice?

"Oh yes, if you were trying to impress me with your oral skills, then I assure you that you've done so"

"That's not EXACTLY what I was trying to achieve, but it's good to hear I hit a pass mark"

"So what...exactly WERE you trying to achieve because whatever the point was, I suspect you've probably made it eloquently."

John straightened up, but Sherlock had other ideas. Rather than removing his hand from behind John's neck, he instead brought his other hand up and without warning, disrupted John's balance, toppling him into Sherlock's lap.

"NOW you can explain." The taller man continued, their faces now brought to equal level with John cradled at right angles to Sherlock's slender frame.

"Sherlock, I wanted to talk to you about the last couple of days, about what this means...to us...and whether we want to, how did you put it....explore further." Honesty was probably the best policy at the moment.

"So you kissed me?"

"It seemed a good way to start the conversation"

"It does seem to have......broken the ice"

Broken it, melted it and made a martini with it "I've never been much of a kisser, it always seems very....intimate. But you....."

"More intimate than what we did last night? You DO remember last night?" Sherlock looked slightly confused.

"Yes, of course I remember, and that was.....that was brilliant, but kissing....there's... nowhere to hide. There's just the two people and....lips and tongue and....it just seems so....personal."

"But you do LIKE kissing? When you're kissed properly."

"God yes! And talking of properly kissed....where did you learn to kiss like that?"

"I read a lot, and the internet can be very instructional"

"You're kidding!"

"Of course I'm kidding John. In reality, I had a friend at university that was undertaking a study on sexual arousal through non-genital means and asked if I would partner up with them."

_I'm sure they did._

"In any case John, it's mainly just physics, timing and pressure. Obviously you need to adjust to allow for jaw structure, angle, height and mouth size but it's not complicated. Would you like me to teach you?"

"As an educational exercise....no thank you very much!"

"What about because I want to kiss you again....very badly"

John looked at Sherlock more closely, his pupils dilated, a light film of sweat made his skin shine just a little and although Sherlock had certainly caught his breath, the rate was certainly well above normal. Sherlock may have been carrying on a conversation about angles and pressure, but the degree which this situation was effecting him was all too clear. That Sherlock wanted him, and was holding back, waiting for John to be ready...to ask, was unbelievably hot.

"Sherlock...."

"Yes John?"

"Please snog me senseless, nothing would make me happier"

Sherlock reached forward, his hands on either side of John's head, long elegant fingers cupping his face and ears. Looking into John's eyes, he closed the gap inch by inch, those impossibly blue eyes never leaving his for a moment.

"I won't break Sherlock, I promise"

"I know John," Sherlock whispered, "I'm just savouring the moment. Some things are worth taking time over."

John had never been kissed like this. Sherlock lightly brushed John's top lip with his lower, a whisper of touch, gone, then back. Feather-like caresses, over and over. Occasionally his lip would be delicately captured between Sherlock's and then the pressure would lift again. Never often enough to be routine, always a little different from the time before. _I had no idea!_ Sherlock's breath ghosted over John's mouth, breathy pants like fingers brushing skin. John swore the number of nerve endings in his lips had trebled in a heartbeat and every touch sent blood shooting to his groin. _I'm losing myself._ He could feel Sherlock was in the same state, but every ounce of his attention was focused on what Sherlock was doing to his mouth.

Sherlock's thumbs were stroking gentle arcs on John's cheeks, pads brushing along John's cheekbones. Sherlock captured John's top lip between his and sucked gently, releasing it with a pop, his tongue followed and brushed along the newly exposed underside of John's lip. The feeling was exquisite and john reflexively captured Sherlock's tongue and sucked gently. _I want...I need!_ Sherlock pulled back slightly.

"Shh John, easy now. There's no hurry" Having reasserted the tempo, Sherlock returned to his ministrations, worshiping John through his lips.

The brief pause gave John a brief moment of mental clarity, realising that while Sherlock's hands were occupied, his own were unencumbered and the need to touch Sherlock, to increase contact was overwhelming. He brought his hands to Sherlock's chest, feeling his raised nipples through the thin cottons of his shirt. Sherlock groaned against his mouth and, struggling with his own need to increase friction, squirmed in the seat, grinding his erection against John. But Sherlock then lowered one of his hands from John's face to where it rested on Sherlock's chest, gently grasped it, and moved it to his shoulder.

"Too much John," he panted, "...can't think when you're doing that and I want to do this properly...just this once...please"

John nodded, raising his other hand to Sherlock'a face, burying his fingers in raven curls, understanding that for Sherlock, this wasn't a matter of control, it was a matter of pride. Sherlock was showing John that by choosing to stay...with him...with them...with this, it wasn't a risk, and that John wasn't the only one who was bringing experience to the relationship.

Slowly, achingly slowly, Sherlock proceeded deepening the kiss, sucking on John's lips, grazing his teeth with his own and teasing his way inside to explore John's mouth in the most intimate, sexually explicitly way possible. John didn't believe it was possible to climax from kissing alone, but if anyone could get him there, it was going to be Sherlock. Lost in the sensations, Sherlock's voice seemed to reach him from miles away.

"John, can I touch you? I need to touch you" Sherlock's voice sounded needy and strained, and John realised he was asking to satisfy his own needs as much as John's.

"God, I wish you would"

Sherlock palmed John's erection through his jeans, burying his head in John's shoulder and panted, desperately dragging air into his lungs and fisting his other hand in the cloth of John's shirt.

"I want you to come for me John, I want to see it, will you do that for me?"

John could feel tears stinging the corners of his eyes, _God, this man is beautiful, his own need is tearing him apart inside and he's asking if I'm ready_ , he nodded dumbly and recaptured Sherlock's mouth with his own, kissing desperately while Sherlock continued to stroke him through his jeans. John arched into the touch, for the first time since he was a teenager, coming messily in his jeans and loving every hot, sweaty, glorious moment. He groaned as Sherlock captured his lip for one long, last pull between his own, the sensitive flesh prolonging his climax and intensifying the feeling. Sherlock threw his head back against the back of the chair and took long deep steading breaths, while John did the same curled against Sherlock's chest.

"Christ Sherlock! Your uni mate deserves a bloody Nobel prize for that study. That was....that was....." John waved his hands feebly in a way he hoped expressed the degree to which he'd been undone.

Sherlock, still slumped against the back of the chair nodded and smiled though the muscles in his jaw remained tense, and John noticed that, for one of them, there remained an unresolved issue. Although Sherlock had been determined to make john the focus tonight, to leave Sherlock in this state would be nothing short cruel.

"Sherlock?"

"Yes John?"

"Fancy a shower.....with me? Right now"

"Yes please. I could use a hand." Sherlock replied with a grin.


	4. Observation skills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John has a bit of a crisis and Sherlock does a bit of a Spring clean to preserve some privacy. Let's all take a deep breath before continuing.

John had detoured past the linen cupboard for some towels, leaving Sherlock to make his way to the bathroom on the second floor alone. It felt strange to be apart, even for so brief a time after the intense experiences of the past 12 hours. G _od, I'm like a randy teenager again, i should be able to keep my hands off him for ten minutes, surely_?

He heard the water begin to flow through the old pipes and silently blessed Mrs Hudson for upgrading the bathroom for previous tenants with a double shower, heated towel rails and decent lighting. There was hot water, and plenty of it, something of a necessity given the mess that he and Sherlock often arrived home in.

But today, there were other plans for the bathroom, and another mess to clean up. John tried again unsuccessfully to adjust his underwear to regain some comfort. The events of earlier that day may have been exciting, new and probably the hottest sexual experience he'd ever had but he was remembering quickly why teenagers grew out of this phase. Walking back toward the bathroom with two large towels he seriously considered simply throwing his jeans and underwear in the bin on the way past as a way of avoiding the entire clean-up operation.

All mundane thoughts of laundry fled his mind as he rounded the bathroom door and found Sherlock, stripped stark naked, standing in profile in the steamy bathroom, neck stretched, face turned toward the ceiling and his hands on the small of his back. _What...I...how?_ John's carefully constructed reality where he was completely comfortable progressing the relationship further crumbled under the reality that this was the first time he'd seen Sherlock naked. The towels fell from his numb hands and he had to reach out to grip the door frame to slow his descent as his knees gave out and he slid to kneel on the floor. _What the HELL am I doing?_

"John? What is it John, are you unwell." Completely unselfconsciously and he certainly had NOTHING to be self-conscious about Sherlock strode across the room to tower over his fallen friend, unfortunately bringing Sherlock's still majestic erection almost level with John's eyeline. _Oh this just gets better all the time_  John thought wryly.

"Sherlock, can you just...step back a bit...please"

"Why?" As Sherlock looked down still trying to understand what had befallen him, John pointedly looked from Sherlock's eyes, to his crotch, then back to his eyes again desperately willing for some of Sherlock's lightning genius to put the pieces together without him having to explain.

"Oh….I see."

"No, it's fine Sherlock. It was just a bit, well sudden. Just when I think I've got my head around this, and I have my feet under me, something happens and now I have you in front of me naked and...well, NAKED and...impressive...and...tall...and...NAKED! And now I have your genitals in front of my face and...I'm..." _I'm not coping!_  He could see the doubt rising in Sherlock's eyes and could virtually feel Sherlock working through scenarios and calculations inside his head "...and...I'll…be...fine. Just give me a moment to pull myself together."

Sherlock stepped back, giving John the space he needed and looked thoughtful and somewhat troubled. Taking a deep breath, Sherlock nodded briefly as he arrived at some conclusion and turned to collect his discarded robe from the floor. Thinking he'd probably just ruined everything by his little display of hysterics, John pushed himself to his feet and reached out.

"Sherlock wait!"

"No John, you wait." Sherlock wasn't angry, John could hear that in his tone, however he knew that he was about to get a lesson on reality as described by the mind of Sherlock Holmes. _Come on then, tell me what an insensitive prick I'm being and that you're fed up with nurse-maiding my dramatic overreactions_ "John….." Sherlock shrugged into the robe and tied it around his waist. Turning back he continued, "You seem determined to reach some imagined destination at a set time regardless of whether the passengers are prepared for the journey. You are a Doctor, John and you've been a soldier. You are conditioned to consider alternatives, plan, and then implement. It is your nature and why you are an effective colleague. But in this, in this…relationship that we've embarked on you appear to have willingly put aside all your better instincts and pushing yourself beyond your own ability to adapt. It's not like you and I find myself discomforted at how hard you are trying to construct this artificial roadmap." Sherlock paused and added a little uncertainly, "I…..thought you wanted this to work?"

"I do Sherlock, I do. Mycroft said…."

"Ah, my brother" Sherlock's face lightened as if a missing piece had been slotted into place, "I should have suspected his misguided…assistance in this. Come with me John."

Sherlock pushed past John and into the hallway, John trailed after working through the meaning behind Sherlock's words, comforted by the familiar logic but then unsettled as Sherlock pushed open John's bedroom door and stepped inside, "Come along John, I need you to see this."

Inside John's room, Sherlock was leaning over John's desk, writing something in large black letters on a piece of printer paper. He then looked up, scanned along John's line of books, settled on a particular spot, held up the paper first to John and then toward the bookshelf. The paper said, simply **Not this room!** He then leaned forward, finding the hidden camera nestled there, and turned it 180 degrees so it faced toward the back of the case.

"That's one" Sherlock muttered as he headed out the room, paper still in hand.

Stopping in the bathroom, he amended the sign, **Not this room!...Either!** Pointed the sign at the ventilation grate, then reached up, opened the grate and repeated the rotation movement, obscuring the vision of the camera there.

"That's two" He was off again, this time to the lounge. He stood in the doorway and scanned the room, thinking.

Finally, He flipped the sign over and wrote **You can have this half of the room…NOT John's chair** before holding the sign first in the direction of a picture frame on one wall, and then to the bookcase. He then went to both places and turned the cameras, checking alignment.

Clearly satisfied at the boundaries he'd established, he balled up the paper and tossed it on the coffee table and walked to the kitchen, settling in one of the chairs. "Now we can talk about this."

"Mycroft has a camera in my room?" _Of course Mycroft had a camera in my room_

"Mycroft has cameras in every room however, given his interference in an area he has virtually no experience, I will not allow his continued unfettered access to our lives. He's crossed a line John and I have now made it clear that his 'help' is unappreciated. His concern was unjustified, I had….HAVE…every expectation that your natural reticence will diminish in time and that things will progress…naturally. WITHOUT HIS HELP" This last was said very clearly and at a volume designed to carry to any lurking microphones.

"So…."

"So - can we, and to be clear John I mean you, please just stop trying to pre-emptively guess what I want you to do, and when I want you to do it and just stop…trying so hard. It's frustrating."

This was the Sherlock that John knew, the coldly logical yet intuitive mind that cut to the core of the matter and laid it all out. The man who became frustrated that the truth he could see with brilliant clarity wasn't as crystal clear to everyone around him. The man who, apparently, knew John a great deal better than he thought he knew himself.

John weighed his next words carefully before saying simply, "I'm making a cup of tea. Want one?" because that's what he wanted to say, it's what 'instinctively' the moment called for. The question came out easily, naturally and as the words left his mouth, he felt as if the ground steadied under his feet for the first time that day.

"Yes please." Sherlock's troubled face eased into a gentler smile and added, "Oh and John?"

"Yes?"

"Better" The simple word reinforcing that John had returned to a more familiar path.

"Better?"

"Much better. Oh…and John"

"Mmmmm?"

"You may want to change out of those jeans at some point, or you'll get a rash"


	5. Worth the wait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that John's come to terms with the situation, the action moves to Sherlock's room (and about time I say).

There were few places that Sherlock would say he felt at ease. His room was one of them. Surrounded by the simplicity of bed, books and desk, things reliably remained in their ordered, aligned places and even Mrs Hudson rarely breached the threshold to dust. This was, he thought, his space. In here, there was silence and sometimes, for a brief few hours, there was peace.

He sat in bed, the only light being from his laptop screen, researching pollen levels of Scottish heather over the past 20 years. While he needed some of the information for a case they were working, he'd gone past the needed information some hours ago and was now simply gathering data for future reference, his fingers tapping furiously and data from maps, statistical variances, climate data and photographs flooding his mind and being categorised and filed in his expansive brain. He loved nights like these.

From a distance, there was a creak of floorboard. _John's awake. Patterns of lights through the curtain indicate that the Chinese restaurant across the road is closed but the night club is still open. Traffic noise is reduced but not silent, no sound of pedestrian traffic, rain earlier has stopped. Time is likely to be between 11:30 and 2am._ Glancing at the small clock at the bottom of his laptop showed 1:45am. A small smile of self-validation tugged at the corners of his mouth.

Another creak. _Bathroom? No, wrong direction._ It wasn't unusual for John to prowl the hallways after midnight. Nightmares often disturbed his sleep and Sherlock knew John needed the physical activity to abolish the last vestiges of the dream before he could settle again. _Water downstairs? No, the board on the stairs hasn't announced his presence. That only leaves…._

"Come in John."

The door opened a crack revealing a sleep ruffled John Watson in pyjama bottoms and tired eyes. "How did you know…? No, forget I asked, I'm too tired to care."

Sherlock gave him an investigatory look. _Slight twitch at the jaw, definitely a nightmare. Hair dishevelled from tossing and turning, a bad one. Dark circles under the eyes, not the first night in a row then._ "John…. Come… in."

"I don't want to disturb you, you're working." John still hesitated,

Sherlock gently closed the lid, putting the laptop aside. "No, I have what I need. The rest can wait. "Come….in" It was no longer a granting of permission but an instruction and John obliged, pushing the door open further and walking in to stand just inside the doorway.

"Nightmare?"

"Yes"

"Bad?"

"Yes"

"Want to talk about it?"

"Not really, no."

"Fine" Sherlock reached over and picked up the laptop again, flipping open the cover, hands hovering over keys again. Superficially, it seemed callous however he knew that what John really needed at the moment was normality and something to react to, so he was giving it to him.

John jaw twitched, hardening. "Right then, thanks for the support Sherlock, I'll just go"

He turned to leave as Sherlock, without looking up quietly said, "John, sit down"

John stood caught between the desire to leave and the emotional need to reach out for comfort. In the end, he sat on the end of Sherlock's bed his jaw working furiously as the last vestiges of the dream were burned away with anger at Sherlock's response.

Without a word, Sherlock uncharacteristically scooted across to make additional space next to him at the head of the bed pulled one of the pillows propped behind him to the other side and patted the bed beside him. He then resumed typing.

John opened his mouth, shut it again, sighed and moved up to sit beside the taller man.

"Duvet"

"What?"

"Under the duvet John, otherwise you'll catch cold" The typing continued uninterrupted.

"I'm not getting into bed with you Sherlock"

"Then go away. This is becoming boring."

Never one to run from a fight, John found a solution that met his need to make a point, but not graciously. He roughly grasped the edge of the sheets and pulled them from under himself, shuffling underneath with a scowl.

The typing paused and Sherlock smothered a smile at the absurdity of the situation, looked toward John and saw he was not alone in the realisation. The two men broke into schoolyard giggles, the tension evaporating in the space of a heartbeat.

"You did that on purpose Sherlock"

"Perhaps"

"You….picked a fight with me"

"You needed something tangible to fight, so I gave you something. Lay down John, you'll be able to sleep now."

"Here?"

"You may as well, you're settled now and the change of scenery may help break the cycle of nightmares"

Sherlock knew exactly how tired John was from the lack of resistance to his suggestion. After a thoughtful pause, John merely shrugged and scooted further down between the warm sheets, pausing to look up at Sherlock to make sure that this wasn't some elaborate experiment designed to confuse or test the Doctor in some obscure way.

Delighted with the implementation of his solution, Sherlock smiled softly and whispered, "Sleep well, John." Then, continued typing as John drifted into a deep and dreamless sleep.

Sometime later, sleep dragging at Sherlock's own brain, he put the laptop aside, leaving the lid open to provide minimal light and quietly arose from the bed. Checking that John hadn't stirred at the movement, he crossed to the bookcase and located the camera he knew Mycroft had placed months earlier. Looking sternly at the lens, he mouthed very clearly **This,** and he glanced over his shoulder to the bed behind him, **is not yours to see.** He then moved a small bust of Newton to block the view of the room from the poorly hidden camera. He then crossed the room, closed the laptop and crawled into bed, at peace with sharing this space with the man beside him.

The following morning, Sherlock awoke to find John watching him, their faces level on the pillows. John looked rested but oddly perplexed.

"So…."John began

"So." Sherlock replied.

"I'm in your bed"

"Obvious John."

"I haven't been in your bed"

"I've been in yours"

"I know, I was there. This should feel more odd."

"And yet…" Sherlock prompted

"And yet….it doesn't. It's actually very comfortable. You have….a comfortable bed Sherlock. I haven't slept that well in weeks". John luxuriously rolled onto his back and stretched, taking much of the duvet with him as it wound around his body. Sherlock grabbed at the edge rapidly disappearing across his hips.

"John… JOHN! Stop…rolling"

The movement ceased as John paused in his stretch, looked over and with a shocked look of recognition asked, "Are you naked?...You're naked under there aren't you?"

With an angry tug of sheets, Sherlock huffed, "Well of course I'm naked John, this is my bed and I always sleep naked, did you think I'd dressed especially for the palace?"

At the memory of Sherlock dressed in nothing but a sheet at the palace, John broke into a fresh set of giggles.

"Not funny John"

"Oh it really is Sherlock, If I just…." And he gave an experimental tug on the sheets.

"John. This isn't a game"

"It really is" tug

"You think I'm protecting my modesty?"

"If that's your own private name for it…yes" John was grinning ear to ear, he was well rested and taking delight in seeing Sherlock off-balance _tug_

"Then let's just see who's modesty needs protecting" And with a flourish, Sherlock relinquished the covers by dramatically tossing the edge toward John.

Sherlock was presented in all his glory, stretched long and lean down his side of the bed, alabaster skin and raven hair, arms crossed resolutely across his chest and morning erection proudly announcing itself to the room. He turned his head slowly and silently DARED John to comment.

John sat slack-jawed on the other side of the bed, unable to take his eyes off the display in front of him. Buried in a surplus of sheets and duvet he closed his eyes slowly, a nervous twitch betraying his rising stress levels. Opening his eyes again, all trace of humour gone from his voice he murmured "So….not modest"

"Not in the slightest John, surely we established that in the bathroom."

The reference to their aborted shower together combined with the physical state Sherlock was currently in stirred something within John, a need to touch, to reach out and feel skin under his fingers. Sherlock had been waiting for John to be ready to take the next, faltering step in their relationship. Content not to push, yet standing in the wings, ready to step in and join him when the call came.

Quietly, hesitantly, John asked, "Sherlock…can I…can I touch you?"

Surprise flashed across Sherlock's face, quickly hidden for fear of disrupting John's flow of thoughts. He hadn't been expecting this so soon, and he needed to ensure John was comfortable with the move he was making and not simply reacting out of a sense of obligation or pity.

"Are you sure John? You don't have to. I didn't invite you to my bed with this in mind"

"Oh I'm sure Sherlock, and unless I've forgotten basic biology, I'm getting surer with every passing moment."

"Good….alright, good" Now that the moment had arrived, Sherlock found that he wasn't quite sure how to proceed.

He needn't have worried as John, taking the response as compliance shrugged out of the confines of the sheets and smoothed a hand over Sherlock's taut abdomen, tracing the outlines of muscles and ribs with gentle, questioning fingers. Having come to terms with their changing circumstance, John had clearly become comfortable with the idea that he was free to explore and Sherlock found the surety in the touch both delightful and desperately arousing.

With a proprietary grin, John watched the younger man reacted to his touch, Sherlock arching and straining as fingers teased warm, smooth flesh. John felt no shame now in looking openly, starting at the unruly head of curls, lingering on eyes, lips, sweeping down across sharp cheekbones, erect nipples with a dusting of short black hairs. Those magnificent abdominal muscles, usually hidden under tailored shirts leading to a trail of jet hairs guiding his eyes downward until his gaze finally stilled on that majestic symbol of Sherlock's manhood, bobbing and straining under John's unwavering gaze.

"Glorious. You really are…unimaginably beautiful for a man." John continued stroking and touching, letting his fingers drift wherever the mood took him. Grazing Sherlock's shoulders, down arms to entwine fingers and then roaming back up to explore cheekbones. John seemed almost dizzy with the ability to simply place his hands on the taller man. Sherlock resisted the urge to reach out to take John in his arms. Lost in the sensation of roaming hands and delicate fingers, Sherlock revelled in the simple pleasure of lying there and allowing John to drink his fill of the experience.

"Sherlock…." John rolled the name around in his mouth, intimate and rough in a tone neither of them had heard before. As if in that one word, John had unlocked everything that he was, or could ever be. "Can I…?"

"Anything John, you can have anything" Came the reply, strained and humble and full of want.

John trailed his hands downward, firm yet gentle, never breaking contact with skin; over jutting hip bones to gasp the base of Sherlock erection, the other sweeping down to gently cup his balls. A broken whimper escaped Sherlock's lips, encouraging John to glide up the shaft and back down, stilling again at the base.

John leaned forward, face inches from Sherlock's and whispered, "I'm going to take you in my mouth now Sherlock, I'm going to lick my way down your beautiful body and then I'm going to make you groan, I'm going to make you weak, and I'm going to unravel you the way you did to me in the lounge room. You're going to come down my throat, and I'm going to milk you dry."

Sherlock had never heard John utter anything even vaguely resembling the words that came from his mouth at that moment and this intensely private insight into the man in his bed was both incredibly masculine and the most insanely sexual thing he'd ever heard. He stared at the man above him and muttered a broken, "Jesus John... _Yes"_

With agonising slowness, John held good to his word, laving a wet path down Sherlock's chest, sucking and nibbling at nipples, circling and diving into Sherlock's belly button and placing tight kisses in a line to his groin. By this time, Sherlock was panting breathlessly and fisting the sheets, twisting them around his wrists, mumbling incoherently with need.

The ghost of warm breath played over his sensitive skin, simultaneously too much and not enough and Sherlock could restrain the broken plea, "Please John. Please"

Never a cruel man, John acceded to Sherlock's wishes, taking him in his mouth, slowly, carefully and Sherlock considered, with what remained of his conscious thoughts that this was likely a first for them both, although John probably had the advantage having been on the receiving end in the past.

Sherlock's hand shyly wavered to John's head, without knowing quite why, only that he needed a sense of touching while being touched so intimately, John's tempo didn't falter, the rhythmic cycle of down, up with a swirl of tongue around the head, a occasional squeeze of the lower hand driving Sherlock toward the edge over and over again. A distant part of his brain wished he was collecting more data, more objective information for future reference but he'd long since given up any pretence of control and his world had narrowed to simple, instinctive thoughts of _more, yes, now, there,_ and loudest of all, drowning out the others... _John always John_.

Sherlock knew he was close and John, being a man and a doctor knew too. The pace changed slightly, although Sherlock was beyond being able to define whether faster of slower, and he was coming, spilling into John's mouth and shouting John's name and falling, and flying, and drowning and gasping for air and through it all, he could feel John's hands on his hips, steadying him, grounding him and giving him somewhere to land as he came back to himself.

Sherlock found himself shaking and gasping and on the verge of tears as John crawled back up his body to lay on his chest and gather him in strong supporting arms. Sherlock's longer arms encircled John, holding him tight and whispering nonsense that he'd probably have forgotten by tomorrow. But it was somehow important, that he find the words to define this, to explain what had happened.

"Shh Sherlock, quietly now. You're fine."

"Fine?" Sherlock managed, "I'm beyond fine John, I'm so far beyond fine that I don't have a word for how good I am"

The great Sherlock Holmes, lost for words...John smiled.


	6. Transport -it's not just transport

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bridging chapter to get ready for the big smutty final chapter. Sherlock finds a new equilibrium

Sherlock found himself staring blankly at the screen and gently sucking on the end of the pencil…again. For the third time in five minutes, he removed the offending object and placed it on the desk. Returning to his typing he discarded much of the most recent page of notes and began again.

_Damn it. I can't work like this!_ The pencil had mysteriously returned to his fingers, being turned idly end over end as his thoughts wandered back to the previous night again.

_I was mistaken._ Sherlock would never admit this conclusion aloud, but nevertheless when viewed objectively, the facts were clear. _The rest is not…..just transport. Transport is a vehicle entirely divided from the driver, the driver controls and guides the progress and the transport has no choice on the destination. I was…wrong._ Sherlock's lip twitched in the slightest sign of disgust, the word sitting badly with him and further adding to his frustration.

That his carefully controlled and regimented thought patterns had been completely disrupted and all his theoretical research could be so badly aligned to the actual reality of the experience cast doubt on the validity of other research was deeply disturbing. Not as disturbing as the fact that the pencil has AGAIN returned unbidden to my mouth he thought, again placing it firmly on the desk, further away from easy reach.

Adding to his frustration John, comfortably settled in his chair reading the paper, appeared completely unaffected by this fundamental shift in the logic on which the world was built. _This damn pencil!_ he thought as it snapped in two between his fingers, having returned again seemingly under its own volition. Sherlock looked at the ruined pieces as they fell to the desk. _This is hopeless!_

"You OK, Sherlock?" John had flipped down the top half of his paper and was looking toward him across the room.

"No." Sherlock was angry, at himself, at John, at the inanimate pencil and at the world at large that had failed to inform him that an entirely different set of rules were required to be applied once the genital organs were engaged in combination with another person.

"Right" John knew this tone well and he was in no mood to suffer a tantrum as writ by 'the greatest mind in Britain' particularly today when he was in such a good mood and riding on a small smug cloud of satisfaction. He flipped the paper back up, effectively blocking Sherlock's view, cleared his throat and continued reading.

"John!" _Pay attention to me!_

"Sherlock?" He didn't lower the paper this time, the smile he couldn't quite hide would provide all the evidence Sherlock would need to know that John was very consciously baiting him.

"John I'm….." Unable to find a way to simplify the seemingly unending mountain of conflicting data he settled on,"…..I'm going out."

"Want company?"

"No" More gentle this time, knowing the offer had been genuine. "I just need some space… to think".

"As long as you're sure you're OK"

John had put the paper down, the need to jibe falling away under sincere concern. John was empathetic enough to realise that the recent changes provided challenges to the both of them. And of the two, in spite of his VAST theoretical knowledge, Sherlock's practical experience lagged far behind John's.

Seeing the look on John's face, and not wishing to alarm his friend unnecessarily, Is friend still the right word for what we are? Sherlock paused in his flight from the room, "Truly John, I'll be fine. Stay here. I'll…..I'll buy more pencils" The attempt at humour lightening the mood as John rose from the chair and stepped to meet Sherlock in the centre of the room.

Not asking permission, John reached up and kissed Sherlock soundly on the mouth. "Have a good walk Sherlock and RELAX, things will sort themselves out" before returning to his seat and his paper, a smile playing at his lips.

Sherlock had barely pulled the door closed behind him when Mycroft's large estate car pulled up to the curve beside him.

"Get in Sherlock," the older brother's voice penetrating from the darkened interior out through the wound down window.

"No" Sherlock crossed his arms petulantly across his chest, and stood his ground.

The car idled. No further sound emanated, instead the door opened and the silence made the previous request a growing demand. For long moments the stand-off continued before Sherlock strode across the footpath, stepped into the waiting car slamming the door behind him.

"Good morning Mycroft" Sherlock set the tone of the conversation with the expressionless greeting indicating it was nothing of the sort.

"Is it? I wouldn't know what sort of morning you've had, given the alterations to your flat"

"Your point?"

"I'm informed that you have chosen to remove several of my cameras"

"Not removed…..adjusted"

"Nevertheless, you have…..limited their effectiveness."

"I have…..'constrained' their range"

Mycroft sighed, Sherlock was well aware of the point Mycroft was trying to make, and Mycroft would be equally aware of why Sherlock had made the changes. Privacy wasn't a term that Mycroft was accustomed to applying to his brother and until recently, Sherlock had no reason to impose limits. However privacy 'was' important to John and Sherlock was, unusually, determined not to give way to his brother's need to monitor and control.

"You spoke to John without consulting me first and I believe we need to revisit the level to which you involve yourself in my personal life." Sherlock made no eye contact with his brother, carefully tempering his tone to ensure the message was clear, "I therefore choose to also…..constrain your range."

Mycroft opened his mouth, ready to speak and then closed it again slowly. Sherlock turned slowly to face his brother.

"Mycroft, I permit you to monitor me and me alone. I understand that my past gives you reason to be concerned as to my potential behaviour in the future. This permission is conditional upon the following. One…You WILL NOT speak to John regarding the personal relationship which may, or may not, exist between he and I." He paused then continued, "Two…..cameras are permitted in the rooms as …defined..by me. These rooms may or may not change on a day to day basis; I will adjust them as needed. Three…"

"Sherlock"

Sherlock held up a hand, continuing, "Three!…There are to be NO active microphones in the flat whatsoever. I shall remove them when I return and they are NOT to be replaced."

'Sherlock…"

"Four….and I wish to be extremely clear Mycroft….your 'assistance' is neither sought nor desired with regards to my private life any longer. Am I clear?"

Mycroft's face cycled through a series of brief, almost imperceptible expressions. Shock, confusion, anger, and belligerence. But the one that settled finally was a begrudging pride, a small smile turning up the corners of a face that didn't smile often.

"I do believe my baby brother has experienced something of a breakthrough"

"Shut up Mycroft"

"I also believe that challenging you on any of your 'conditions' would likely result in an escalation which would benefit neither of us…..I concede."

"You what?

"I concede. It is clear that you no longer need my eternal vigilance and I find myself content to have passed that role to another for now. I know you realise that the nature of your work, and mine makes a level of observation desirable, and I trust you will act accordingly. Good morning Sherlock."

Sherlock reached to open the door, effectively dismissed as Mycroft reached out to put a hand gently on his shoulder, "Oh, and Sherlock….", the tone in Mycroft's voice had changed and held a rare hint of fondness, "I should not have interfered."

It was as close to an apology that Sherlock was likely to receive and as the car moved off behind him, Sherlock stood facing the door of 221B Baker Street realising that the sibling relationship he shared with Mycroft may have forever altered and perhaps not before time.

The words had come so easily when setting boundaries with Mycroft, he hadn't planned it and perhaps that was the key he'd been seeking to rally his scattered thoughts. Don't act….. react. Allow instinct to manage and control his physical needs and reactions, freeing up his mind to return to work. Looking toward the shops, his original destination when he set out on his walk the thought came unbidden I don't need pencils, what I need… is John.

Taking the stairs two at a time with enthusiasm at his frankly brilliant solution, Sherlock burst through the door to find John making tea in the kitchen, silently swirling hot water around the pot to warm it.

"John"

"You're back"

"Not important" Sherlock mumbled not breaking stride as he crossed the room, turning the shorter man around and pressing him up against the kitchen bench and kissing John roughly.

"Sherlock…..?" John struggled to get a word out between enthusiastic and dominant kisses.

"Testing a theory…" came the muffled reply.

"Teapot Sherlock…just let me" John tried to maneuver his arm behind himself to put the crockery on a flat surface

"What?...Oh..right..Good thought…and while we're having good thoughts…"

Frenetically, Sherlock broke contact and on long legs, strode to the lounge room to pull a microphone from behind a mantle clock. Then stepped onto and over the coffee table back to the kitchen, reached up above one of the cupboards, turning a camera around and removing another microphone.

"Sherlock…what are you thinking of…"

"Not thinking John…doing! I'm reducing the need to consciously process my physical needs." Sherlock had returned to John, crowding him up against the bench again.

John found he rather liked this new, slightly manic Sherlock and the possibilities it presented.

"Sherlock what..."

Sherlock paused long enough to mutter a quick reply, "Transport John! I was right all along. The cruise control John, I needed to engage the cruise control."

"Not that I'm complaining, but I didn't follow any of that." A laugh began somewhere in the middle of John's chest, erupting with childish joy as Sherlock plundered his mouth with careless enthusiasm. The measured, calculated experiment of the past had gone and this was a Sherlock John rarely saw, the man behind the deductive mask. Here in the kitchen, the detective was gone and there was only the instinctive brilliance of the genius that John had run across London following. It was breathtaking.

Without warning and without permission, Sherlock reached to palm John's erection through his jeans, eliciting a squeak of surprise and a whimper of need from the shorter man. More boldly still, Sherlock's other hand reached to guide John's first to the waist of his trousers, then down, inside, past underwear, to settle it around his own cock. Arching into the touch, the two men ground against each other shamelessly.

"I want..."

"What Sherlock? What do you want...tell me"

"I want, God...I want...everything...I...Damn it John, I NEED...", his voice trailed away, "...everything" Sherlock continued relentlessly pushing against the man he'd come to regard as essential to his future survival.

Breaking from the bruising, demanding kisses, John became serious for a moment, bringing his unencumbered hand up to cup Sherlocks face and ensuring he had the full attention of the wildly passionate man in his arms, "Then...come with me and you can have it all."

The eyes staring into John's glazed, pupils blown wide as meaning pierced, settled and the entirety of what John was saying became clear. The frantic movements stilled and for a moment, there was a stunning, magnificent, perfect balance between instinct and intellect and John saw it all, saw it reflected in those prismatic changeable eyes as Sherlock nodded wordlessly.

"Your room?" John asked, selfishly not wanting to break the momentum.

"I think so...yes"

Extricating his hand from the front of Sherlock's trousers, eliciting a small whine of disappointment, John took Sherlock's hand and led him from the room.

Sherlock's mind worked frantically, struggling against his newfound resolve to simply let things evolve and happen without guidance. While he was physically delighted at the progress and emotionally elated, jumbled, desperate thoughts threatened to again overwhelm him and deep-seated habits continued to exert their influence. How will this work, this is new, what will John want, will I please him, he has so much more experience, freak, annoying, dysfunctional, asexual, unemotional, fool.

Sensing a shift, John paused and turned back, seeing the conflict that threatened to pull Sherlock below the waves. His strong hands came to grasp Sherlock's shoulders, giving him something to hold onto, while he waited for calmer seas to bring him to shore.

So incredibly strong. You save me over and over again. I don't understand why I deserve this. Sherlock leaned into John's arms, finding the safe harbour he needed. Leaning to press their foreheads together John murmured quietly, "You OK?"

"Yes. John, I'm going to need help. I don't...I'm not...this isn't an area I've explored in any...depth."

John smiled, "Relationships involving two penises aren't exactly my usual fare either Sherlock, but we've been doing alright so far. Stop overthinking and we'll work the details out together. If some solid data would help you..."

"It would.."

"We're both clean, I get our blood tested every time we get banged up. The rest of the...mechanics," John searched for the right words, clinical enough to satisfy Sherlock but not so much as to spoil the mood, "my training has equipped me with the knowledge I need to make sure things will be ...screw clinical... brilliant"

"Brilliant?"

"Mind-blowingly...brilliant"

"Excellent" Sherlock replied, a rare open smile that John was beginning to recognise as reserved for him broke across Sherlock's face and taking John's hand again, he led his partner, friend, colleague...lover...John to his room


	7. I'll take care of you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our boys finally finish the journey they started some time ago. Shmoopy, a little awkward but altogether satisfying for all concerned.

John helped Sherlock out of his shirt as the taller man shrugged off his shoes. Reversing the action, Sherlock lifted and pulled John's ridiculous jumper up over his head, then proceeding to his shirt. Jeans, trousers, underwear all followed with increasing pace. Now that a path had been chosen, both were tightly focussed on reducing the amount of fabric separating them from the skin of the other.

Sherlock crawled up the bed, a movement which would have looked comical without the long expanses of muscle and skin that gave the movement a feline grace when undertaken by the man on the bed. John joined him, diving in for more service from a mouth that he was fast developing an unhealthy addition to. His hand returned to Sherlock's erection, enjoying the gasp dragged from the lips he was kissing.

"Sherlock..." John tried to break through the fog of desire to capture his partner's attention, "Sherlock..listen for a moment"

The eyes cleared, coming to focus on John, briefly kissing him again before pausing to listen.

"Sherlock, you need to tell me...you need to choose...you or me...which..."John knew what he wanted to say, what needed to be clarified and yet, when it came to putting the question into words, he found himself shy and stumbling. He'd assured Sherlock that he'd guide their path and keep them safe, he needed to do better, "which...Damn it, grow up John!...do you want to take...or give?"

Sherlock's face transformed, his mouth forming a small surprised "oh" as he considered the question, "I hadn't...considered." He briefly worried at his bottom lip uncertainly.

"Hey...hey. Look at me Sherlock," Eyes locked and held again, "There isn't a right and wrong answer here. There's just us, it's OK to be not sure. You want me to make this easier?"

"Please.."

"First time, let me take the lead. I know what needs to happen, what will help and to be honest, I'll probably have a bit more control which will make things easier. I just wanted to give you the choice."

"I just want you John, I want whatever will make you happy"

"Sherlock, finally being here with you makes me happy. You make me very, very happy"

"Then you'll be even more happy that there's lube in the top drawer"

"Really?" Unexpected

"I may be inexperienced John, but I'm not ignorant"

The arrogant yet self-aware comment, so like the Sherlock he'd known for so long seemed the funniest thing he could possibly say and John buried his face against Sherlock's face and laughed, deep reverberating chuckles that made all the odd, awkward hesitant progress somehow normal and OK. They'd seen each other at their best and worst, fighting together either with or against others, running toward and away from danger, building a strange, quirky and utterly unique life together and the words slipped out between snorts of laughter, almost muffled against the consulting detective's chest, "I love you."

The hand which had been fondling the scar on John's shoulder, paused only for a moment and moved to gently nuzzle amongst the short tan hair at the nape of his neck, "Yes, I suppose that's what this is. I suppose this is what love feels like. I certainly can't imagine ever being able to give you up."

That's enough for now. John hadn't expected an undying expression of everlasting love from Sherlock I hadn't expected to say it myself.

Having retrieved the tube from the top drawer, John squeezed a generous amount into his palm You can never use enough lube came the hint from drunken conversations with gay friends. John cupped the liquid in his hand for a moment, letting it warm, before slowly, and carefully bringing it down to Sherlock's groin, moving around his cock, balls to gently, ever so gently smooth a path along his perineum toward the tight pucker beyond.

"Here's how this is going to work Sherlock, I'm going to work you with my hand to give you something to focus on, and gently stretch you so you're ready. We'll take our time and you can call stop at any time." As John spoke, quietly and in reassuring tones, his finger gently circling Sherlock's anus, gently pressing and getting him used to the peculiar feeling. "I mean that Sherlock, ANY time. I might be on top here, but I don't want you to feel like you don't have control." John was gently stroking in time with the rhythm he was setting with his other hand, "If there's something you want, something you need, you tell me."

Being able to provide Sherlock the reassurance he needed was helping John maintain his own shaky control. A large part of his mind was screaming with the need to take what it wanted regardless of his partner but years of army and doctor training made the role of carer and leader an easy one to grasp hold of.

"Need...more" Sherlock's whine was plaintive, not knowing exactly 'what' he wanted, only that it currently wasn't enough.

"OK Sherlock, greedy, this will feel a bit weird. Bear down a bit, I'm told it helps". John pressed a fingertip into the tight ring of muscle, feeling muscles clench, then relax reflexively. Inch by inch, pacing both their progress, John pushed as Sherlock arched first away, and then back toward his hand. Clearly fighting competing instincts to run and yet seeking more, his arm came up to cover his eyes.

"John...God John"

"You OK?"

"Yes." Sherlock's need to analyse every moment, every experience kicked in at the question and surprisingly coherently he continued, "...it's strange. Feels wrong, but good at the same time...different." That was apparently all the deduction required at the moment as Sherlock lapsed back into silence, taking deep, gulping steadying breaths.

"Ready for more? I don't want to hurt you by going too fast"

"I may be forced to hurt 'you' if you don't", a smile caught at the edges of his tense mouth.

The second finger was easier, He's getting used to this and once inside, he gently scissored the fingers, massaging and relaxing against the resistance. Knowing roughly what he was feeling for, he curled his fingers giving an exploratory prod in the area of Sherlock's prostate.

The dramatic reaction caught them both by surprise, spasming violently and almost pulling entirely from John's fingers, "Bloody Hell!" Sherlock's cock pulsed firmly and John's gave an answering throb.

"Prostate" John said simply, suppressing a wicked grin

"You're an evil sadist John Watson"

"I know"

"Do it again"

"Right" So John proceeded as before, enjoying the control and yet completely at the command of the man under his hands. We're a well matched pair. John toyed and played and drove Sherlock mad as he added another finger, driving them both to a place where pleasure overrode any nervousness or doubt.

"Sherlock, it's time. This will feel a bit different, but you'll be fine. You're ready, just trust me"

"Trust...you...completely"

"OK love," John tested out the word, it seemed the right one at the moment. "Stretch your legs up over my shoulders..." Dear God those legs go on forever "...that's the way" John squeezed more lube into his hand never enough lube and smoothed it over his almost unbearable hard cock. John had boasted his control, but getting Sherlock ready had pushed him to the limit.

He looked down at the space between themselves, aligned so close and pressed teasingly against Sherlock's prepared hole. "Breathe and push Sherlock, breathe and push." John pushed forward, steadying Sherlock's hits as he mewed and squirmed.

"John..John...John"

"So tight, God Sherlock, so different" A stream of noises filled his head some his own, some Sherlock's, some in English, others in a language he didn't recognise. Slowly, and gasping for control with each broken breath, he inched their bodies together as Sherlock whimpered and fisted sheets and looked utterly, utterly broken beneath him.

John rested his head against Sherlock's knee, considering that perhaps he'd taken on just a little more of the responsibility than he could actually handle. The need to surrender and pound against his partner threatened to overwhelm him and only opening his eyes and looking at Sherlock's impossibly vulnerable face gave him the strength to restrain himself.

"John" Sherlock had reached up to grasp his forearm, clarity in those bottomless blue eyes, "It's OK...I need it too. Show me, John. Show me the path."

With a groan John began to move, slowly and carefully at first, then picking up the pace as Sherlock adapted to his length and girth and began tentatively thrusting back. John adjusted angle once, twice and there watching with awe as Sherlock came apart under his gaze.

"Touch...need" The broken barotone barely able to string words together between rough intakes of breath.

John reached down to touch Sherlock and give him the extra stimulation that he needed and with a keening cry, pushed him over the edge, spilling over John's hand with an ecstatic wave of feeling, bringing John along with clenching muscles and a final push.

Catching his breath and gingerly pulling out, careful of tender skin, John helped Sherlock lower his legs, muscles strained from the unfamiliar position, and grabbed tissues to make themselves more comfortable. Neither was willing to abandon the bed yet, although on some level they knew there would be some physical necessities to take care of, it didn't seem compelling at the moment.

"I feel I should say something. Something insightful, but I find myself again lost for words. It's somewhat troubling John."

"Take your time, you'll think of something. I'm not going anywhere for a while."

Silence settled on the room and John had almost drifted into a light, satiated sleep when the rich, velvet voice broke through exclaiming, "I have it John...I know what needs to be said."

"Mmmmmm?"

"You should try it from my end next time. That was brilliant."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for making it to the end. I've thought about continuing this series, but this seems like a natural pause point. I'm open to suggestions. Want more? Let me know.


	8. Sore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following recent activities, we take a slight break to allow for some conversation and recovery.

_Smug_. _There's really no other word for it, John looks.....smug._

Sherlock looked across Lestrade's office as the shorter man carried on an animated conversation with the DI. After the night they'd shared, he couldn't find it in his heart to begrudge a little self-satisfaction in his flatmate. It had been a first for them both, what with John being purportedly _not-gay_ and Sherlock being....well not anything really. Certainly nothing resembling interactions that would include what they had done last night.

It hadn't been particularly elegant, and he doubted it would have won any awards even as a low budget porn film, but John had said he'd take care of him and he had. He'd taken him, unravelled him and left him panting for both breath and control. It had been honest, and raw and shockingly intense even if it had at some points seemed a little clinical in the preparation.

_So where did that leave them?_ In the simplest terms, it appeared to leave John smug and Sherlock......a little sore in the physical sense but with a nagging sense of unfinished business on an emotional level. He'd had the recent privilege of seeing John at his most vulnerable; begging, moaning and pleading and Sherlock found the experience intoxicating in a way not even drugs could match. If what he'd done to his blogger so far had reduced him to muttered whimpers, and Sherlock had been so completely wrecked by being on the receiving end, then how delicious it would be to do to John what had been done to him last night.

John turned to glance at him across the office, probably checking that Sherlock wasn't irretrievably damaging relationships with any more of the the DI's team. The last few days may have changed he and John's relationship, but neither of them were naive enough to think his approach to every other person on the planet would change. Sherlock caught John's eye and made pointed head movements toward the door. The case was solved, their account of the scene given and considering that Sherlock had now been standing and pacing the halls for over three hours, having discovered that he was unable to sit on the hard office chairs without wincing and fidgeting, he felt the time was well past due to excuse themselves and return home.

_Damn him_ Sherlock thought. John made a dramatic show of looking confused, mimicking Sherlock's head movement and then shrugging his shoulders and mouthing, "I don't understand" before giving him a wicked grin and turning back to Lestrade. _Two can play at that game_. Sherlock grabbed his coat and began striding toward the door, knowing that either John would scurry to catch up, or surmise where he was heading.

As it happened, Sherlock was just climbing into a cab as John barrelled down the stairs and piled in behind him the cab, crowding up and shouldering him in the arse, eliciting a very unmanly squeak from the tender detective as he was trying to turn and gently sit on the well padded seats.

"John!" Sherlock turned to face John angrily.

John met like for like, "You were leaving without me!"

"You knew where I was going." Sherlock added petulantly.

"That's not the point."

"No, the point is....." Sherlock considered for a moment _What IS the point I was making?_ "The point is.....I want to go home."

"Why the sudden urgency?"

"Sudden!" Sherlock resisted briefly to admitting the truth before sighing and added quietly, "I'm....tired. I ache all over, I've been standing up for over three hours and if I don't get some painkillers soon, I fear certain parts of my anatomy and I will no longer be on speaking terms. Ok?"

John had the grace to look chastised _As he should, it's mostly his fault after all_. "Sorry, I was...."

"You were gloating." Sherlock, having admitted the truth found his anger had dissipated and he smiled a little more fondly, "It's just as well the entire Scotland Yard is staffed by idiots or our private life would be a little less...private."

"Yeah well, with you it's not often I end up on top...." His smile reached his eyes as he indulged in the double entendre adding a childish giggle, "in an argument."

"Oh very mature..." Sherlock settled in for a proper pout.

John glanced over, and for the first time looked properly at the dark rings under the detective's eyes and the firm line to his mouth. John was well practiced in noticing pain in his patients and he mentally kicked himself for not seeing it in his lover earlier. He reached out to place a gentle hand on Sherlock's arm, "Sorry. That was.....sorry Sherlock."

The detective sighed and leaned his head down on John's shoulder, "It's fine John, I'm not really blaming you. Just a combination of a boring case, an a couple of sleepless and yet VERY worthwhile nights. Nothing that a nice warm bath and a big soft cushion won't fix."

"Then that's what you'll get. Nothing but the best for your....ummm," John glanced through the partition toward the driver, "aching muscles."

Sherlock snorted against the shoulder of John's jumper and moved to cover John's hand with his own.

They lapsed into a comfortable silence for the remainder of the trip home. Hands clasped and warming a patch on Sherlock's thigh. A comforting touch, shared in silence without explanation or expectation. Sherlock's head, heavy on John's shoulder, eyes closed and yet not asleep. Content simply to rest and share the smaller man's quiet strength.

Some time later, John gently nudged him and murmured, "We're home. I'll pay, you get upstairs."

"Thanks. I'll put the kettle on, but don't expect it every day. It's a special occasion." He added with a smile as he opened the cab door and stepped stiffly to the curb.

It took John no more than two minutes to pay the fare and follow him up, but before John even had the chance to fill the two cups Sherlock had laid out the detective was already asleep, curled on the sofa. Smiling down at the quietly snoring man, John tucked a blanket around him and placed a soft kiss on the upturned cheek. Suddenly overwhelmed with a wave of protective affection, John silently lowered himself to the floor next to Sherlock, and waited for his partner to awake.


End file.
